04.1 Pretending God is someone he’s not

I often project my own self-hatred onto God. Then my negative narratives about myself cannot be questioned; they're the God-honest truth!

I love the smell of diesel. It’s the smell of safety. It’s the smell of Dad. 

My dad was a railroad engineer. Like the trainmen of the old west, he ran trains from La Junta Colorado to Dodge City Kansas and to many other dusty outposts. He would be gone for a day or two at a time, and come home smelling like steel and diesel. On the nights he came home late, I would often be half-asleep, and the smell of diesel wafting into my room meant dad was home and all was well. To this day, the smell of diesel calms me. It smells like home. 

Home means I’m safe. Home means I’m loved. Home is where Papa (what my kids call me) will always be there for me. No matter what happens—or what I do—Papa will always be on my side, working to make sure I have what I need. Sure, Papa can be big and scary, but not to me. To me he’s strong and safe.